End: Who Did This To You?

For a moment, the young Asian dickgirl's eyelids fluttered. The brown eyes adjusted, saw the reporter's face for the first time. Lois Lane could almost see the bound figure process her question, and then she said:

"Jimmy...Jimmy Olsen."

The reporter took a step back, shocked to her core. Jimmy Olsen? The ginger-headed photographer from the Daily Planet with more freckles than sense? Jimmy Olsen, who would cross-dress at the drop of a hat, and who would drop the hat himself? Superman's friend, Jimmy Olsen?

It seemed surreal. Impossible. Insane.

Then Jimmy walked through the door, all smiles, bags of Indian takeaway loaded in his arms. His green plaid sportscoat as loud as ever, apparently impervious to the smell. He practically floated into the room and ignoring the filth and decay half-sang. "Ladyboys and she-dudes, I'm hoooo-ome!"

Then he saw Lois Lane and Angelica Blaze standing there, before his four bound, naked dickgirls.

Immediately, Jimmy's shoulders sagged, and with more than the weight of fresh hot vindaloo and tikki masala.

"Miss Lane?" he said, as if he hoped his eyes deceived him.

Lois drew herself up to her full height. Fists clenched. "James Olsen, what the hell have you done?"

He cringed a little at her tone. Behind them, one of the ladies was cumming again. Her muffled voice hit a pitch like a squirrel stepped on by an elephant during the moment of orgasm. Jimmy Olsen gave a weak smile.

"So...let me explain..."

"It was our idea, really," Jenny Dunlap said, as she swigged down a gulp of beer.

Once free of the restraints, the entire party had crossed the hall, to a much cleaner if still Spartanly-appointed apartment. Lois noticed plastic bins full of clothes, roll-out beds and sleeping bags, individual toothbrushes at the sink. The fold-out card table and chairs were just enough for five, and Lois made Jimmy stand next to Angie as the impregnated reporter ate his lamb curry and rice.

"Jimmy always had a thing for dickgirls, see," Tonya Wong said. "Total pervert. Sucking, jerking us off, fucking our asses, getting fucked...all of it. He loved it."

"And we love him," Mara de la Cruz added as she broke off a chunk of naan bread. "Like, we can be ourselves. Male, female, trans...it doesn't matter how we identify. He's been a big help too, getting our website set up, the whole bondage thing. You know people who watch our milking streams buy our old jizz?"

"It's just been so fun!" Diana Reynolds said. "Did you know he wears a butt plug to work now? He likes to keep his ass-pussy nice and ready for us. Sometimes we take turns."

"It was just a shoot," Jimmy said, weakly. "You, ah, happened to come in near the end of it. I guess I forgot to lock the door. They really hadn't been there that long...an hour, hour and fifteen, max."

Lois Lane looked longingly at the beer, but knew she shouldn't have any more **** tonight. One hand went to her midriff and she gave a polite burp. In fact, if Blaze was correct, she might want to lay off the booze for the next forty weeks or so.

"Well," Lois said around a mouthful of curry and rice. "As long as everybody's consenting. I was worried."

Dawn saw Lois Lane and Angie waving their goodbyes to the happy polycule. Lois Lane **** a smile as she saw Jimmy Olsen's relieved face, knowing that she would never be able to see him again without thinking of the plug in his ass.

Angie escorted Lois Lane home. She didn't flinch this time as the reporter, slid her arm inside hers. Lois Lane felt the weight of her night out on her shoulders and in her legs as dawn broke over the city, the clouds lit-up pink from underneath. Her pussy felt as if it squelched with every step, and it itched. She needed to get home and clean herself out.

Then there was the tall lover by her side.

What am I going to do with Blaze? Lois wondered to herself. Now that all other mysteries of the evening were resolved, she turned her attention back to the demonic dickgirl who had so definitely and purposefully pumped her splooge into the reporter's defenseless womb. Not that a morning-after pill wouldn't take care of that, but...

"What am I going to do with you?" Lois Lane wondered aloud.

Angie tilted her head and seemed to consider this.

"Take me home and let me lick your pussy until you cum all over my face?" The dickgirl suggested.

Lois Lane snorted. It wasn't the worse suggestion she'd ever heard.

"I mean it, Angie. What are we going to do if I'm pregnant? Or if I'm not pregnant? We hardly know each other."

Blaze smiled—and Lois noticed that it was a real smile, a genuine smile, not that smug, knowing, half-smile she'd come to recognize.

"In truth, I don't know. Never been in an actual relationship before. I think you are pregnant but—if you're willing—I'm more than willing to keep trying until you are. Think of me as a sperm donor with benefits."

Lois snorted again.

"Unless you want to be more."

The reporter chewed that thought. It seemed like forever she'd been chasing Superman, saving herself for Superman. One mistake, one night of passion, and she had this tall, enigmatic, well-hung dickgirl that seemed ready to move into her life and dick her down whenever and wherever possible. Other women would have jumped at such opportunities. Lois...hesitated.

"Well, let's start with the oral sex and go from there," the reporter said.

"As you wish," Angie said, and that strangely genuine smile curled her lips as though she had just scored a goal.

Perhaps we both have, Lois Lane admitted to herself, and let her tired head rest for a moment on her lover's shoulder.